Just Another Nobleman
by pouncepounce
Summary: Before becoming the Hero of Ferelden, before the Blight, before that fateful night, Aedan Cousland was a nobleman, the younger son of Bryce Cousland, the Teyrn of Highever. He had family, he had friends. He had lovers, too. He had a brain and he had a heart. An origin story and beyond, centered around the human noble and the people who he shared his life with. T for themes.
1. Chapter 1

_Dragon 9:25, Autumn_

 _Some years prior to the Fifth Blight of Dragon 9:30  
_

"Two more moves and I have you." Aedan spun the freshly captured queen in his fingers. He slouched deeper into his armchair, the familiar scent of Antivan leather filling his sinuses. "Don't let your father catch you making moves like _those_ ," he said, the pitch of his voice still awkwardly between boy and man.

Across on the other side of the chess board was a stumped Anora, sitting in an identical armchair with forehead in hand. She eventually knocked over her king piece, signalling her resignation. "It should have worked! She's the most powerful piece in the game!"

"You're too aggressive with it," Aedan explained in a matter of fact tone. "Putting the Queen in a centre square is usually a bad idea."

Anora's ears reddened and she deflected with a pout. "It's a _stupid_ game anyway. Far too rigid. Nothing like the _real_ world."

The young lord of Highever let out a chuckle. "You should stick to what you're good at, then. Bookkeeping and sucking up to men with silver hair," he teased.

" _Economics_ and _politics_ , Aedan. _Economics_ and _politics_." She glared at her friend, and then at the board. Her eyes softened, along with her voice, "Another game?"

Aedan allowed a grin. "Sure," he replied simply.

The library door burst open, a blond-haired youth sprinting inside. The twenty-year-old man-child was huffing and puffing, face red from exertion. He regained his breath. "You two are _still_ playing that game? Come outside! Fergus and I are going hunting, down in the woods." He looked to Aedan first, pleadingly.

Aedan disliked hunting. Your boots were muddied and your legs ached. But you couldn't say _no_ to such an earnest young man. He relenteded with a nod.

The blond boy turned to Anora, hands on hips and standing as proudly as he could manage. " _Fine_ ," she replied, her voice filled with exasperation, "But nowhere with too many hills. That is my condition."

"Deal." Smiling from ear to ear, the man-child ran off as fast as he had entered, "Meet you two in the courtyard!" And then he was gone.

Anora's forehead fell into the comforting cup of her hand once more. "Almost two full years have passed and still at times I find it hard to believe that he truly is my husband."

Aedan's laughter filled the room a second time.

* * *

The pair, changed into sturdy leather hunting gear, made their way across to the stables, where the house kept their most well bred horses, reserved exclusively for the royal family and their guests. The rest of the party, already waiting by their mounts, were chattering away under the midday sun. Aedan could count from afar an extra set of horses reserved for the two of them.

Cailan waved eagerly as they approached, but it was Fergus who spoke first. "Little brother! We were starting to wonder if you'd tricked us and gone back to playing your little board game," he said to Aedan.

"How could I ever possibly decline an invitation from the future King of Ferelden?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Cailan grimaced.

Adriani, the youngest Cousland, suppressed a giggle. "It is an honour to be blessed by your presence, Your Majesty." She curtsied.

"Not you too." The young prince groaned and straddled himself atop his mount as if in an act of desperation. "We're here to hunt, lords and ladies, so let us hunt."

The others followed suit, bar one.

"Is something the matter, Cateline?" Anora asked.

A moment's hesitation and uneasy eyes, before Cateline replied, "I'm afraid I have never ridden before."

"Never?" Fergus blurted loudly, earning him a _look_ from Adriani. "Uh, I mean, well," he scrambled, "Then how do you hunt?"

"I never have."

A pause.

"Hunting for leisure isn't very popular amongst Orlesians," Anora explained. "You will be fine, dear. Aedan will take good care of you, won't he?" She turned to the boy in question, an ever so slightly dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Of course, I will," Aedan replied, straddled almost at attention, "Of course. You can ride with me." He offered a hand to the young lady, sixteen years old and his elder by two. She took it, allowing him to help her onto his mount in a side-saddle position behind him, reservedly wrapping her arms around his waist. "Hold tight," he said over his shoulder, ignoring her frankly pleasant scent, sweet and citrusy, and the familiar heat simmering in his chest. She held tight.

"Good." Cailan looked on to the lush woods on the western end of the royal estate. "Then let us be off!" He tugged on the reins, darting off in search of prey.

* * *

Fergus unleashed an arrow, hitting an unsuspecting hare square in the head. He let out a satisfied grunt. "That makes thirty." He ran down the hill to retrieve the carcass and back up again to the top, where Adriani was sitting cross legged on the grass, her eyes stuck to the miniature canvas she had brought along, filling in the details of the sunset sky in front of her with red-orange water paint.

"Poor thing," Adriani remarked with regret, the majority of her attention still devoted to her work in progress, "We must be sure not to waste a single bite for dinner."

"A quick death is a good death, or so they say." Fergus set down his bounty and sat himself beside his sister. "Speaking of poor things."

Adriani finally looked up from her work, and she saw it. The sight of Anora scolding a sheepish Cailan in the distance, fifty meters or so to the north. She giggled. "That's rather unfair on Anora, wouldn't you say? So often you make her out to be some sort of a domineering despot, but she does have a good heart, you know."

"If you say so."

"I _do_ say so, and besides, she even helped cover up your bumbling mess earlier, regarding Cateline."

"But she's never been riding before. Ever! How was I _supposed_ to react?"

"Learn when to hold your tongue, dear brother. Silence is at times just as effective a tool as eloquence."

* * *

Aedan treaded carefully across the rocky riverbed with Cateline close behind. He'd caught nothing so far, despite two attempts on a particularly quick footed fox. Archery had never been his thing.

"This is something that your people do often?" Cateline inquired, hopping over a particularly large puddle.

"Oh yes, my people love to hunt. Although I must admit, I find it to be a little boring."

"You do not think it cruel? To needlessly end the lives of such innocent creatures?"

Aedan stopped for a moment and lowered his bow, turning to face Cateline. He shrugged. "Survival of the fittest, I suppose. Although I would think that you would be well acquainted with the notion. Orlais is famous for its Great Game, after all."

The young lady's emerald green gaze held his with an intensity that caught Aedan off guard. The rest of her features were soft and unassuming, but it was those eyes that could disarm him at will, boring into his very soul. "You need not remind me of the Game," she said with a hint of bitterness, "Every Orlesian is a player, willingly or not, let alone the eldest daughter of a duke."

By 'Orlesian', she was referring to the upper class, of course.

"How is it in your case, then?" Aedan gripped the handle of his bow tightly, "Are you a _willing_ player, or are you being dragged into something that you have no desire to be a part of?"

Cateline raised her eyebrows in surprise and Aedan knew that the girl's cheeks had turned pink underneath her thick Orlesian blush. She parted her lips to reply, when something else, over and behind Aedan's shoulder, caught her attention.

Aedan knew it could only be one thing. He spun around and swiftly raised his bow, taking aim at the fox from before. It was chewing something colourful, wild berries, no doubt, several metres ahead on a tree branch and blissfully unaware of its impending death. The shot was certain, he had it now.

"Run!" Cateline shouted.

The fox jerked its head toward the pair. Aedan released the arrow. It dodged the projectile by a hair's width and darted off deeper into the woods, leaving only a short trail of berries behind.

"What in Maker's name was _that_?" Aedan blurted, an ugly expression crossing his face. Cateline pursed her lips. "Never mind," he said, waving her off, "The sun's almost down. We had better head back if we're to return in time for dinner."

The young girl nodded and followed Aedan back the way they had come.

* * *

"And who caught the bear?" Bryce Cousland asked after swallowing down a particularly chewy piece of meat.

They were at the dining hall now, all sitting at a table that spanned the length of the entire room.

"I did! Got it right between the eyes, too!" Cailan exclaimed proudly through a mouthful of game.

"Foolish, if you ask me," Anora interjected icily, "We would have been in trouble if you'd missed."

Cailan's smile was all but gone, his eyes lowered to the contents of his plate.

Eleanor, Teyrna of Highever, took a sip of her wine. "But he didn't," she said, "And now we get to enjoy a hearty meal, thanks to him."

"The _heir apparent_ , should know better than to-" Loghain stopped abruptly upon seeing the _look_ he was getting from Eleanor. He groaned, taking a large gulp of wine before turning to Cailan. "Nice shot." The man sounded sincere enough.

The young prince's smile returned and he took another oversized bite of his dinner.

"Don't forget about _my_ efforts," Fergus said. "I caught thirty hares."

"That's _almost_ a quarter of a bear," Adriani teased.

Fergus shrugged, raising a brow, "That's still more than what Aedan came back with. Five hours in the woods with nothing to show for it? I am sorry, brother, but that's just embarrassing."

Aedan stole a glance toward Cateline, who was trying her best to act as if she were oblivious to the conversation, slicing her meat with refinement. _She eats meat! Why is she so against hunting!?_ He sighed. "What can I say? Killing small animals isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten that you'd chosen to specialize in board games. Forgive me." Fergus grinned.

Aedan glared at his brother across the table.

Loghain chuckled before his expression turned into something more serious. "There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, Aedan. Wars are fought by soldiers, but they are won by generals. The both of you," he motioned to Fergus and Cailan, "could learn a thing or two, and _much more_ , about that."

Feeling a little reprimanded, the future teyrn and king fell silent and returned to attacking their meals.

* * *

Bryce couldn't help but smile at the sight of his family and friends dining together. For decades, they had come together at the royal estate in private, at least once or twice a year, to share stories, experiences and lives with each other. To spend time together, with just about the only people who they could treat as equals, without having to worry about rank and protocol, or about being taken advantage of for political gain. His only regret was that Maric could not join them this time around. The king was attending a meeting to help unite the Free Marches. _No doubt Maric was wishing he were back here with his family, poor chap._ "And how did you find your time in the woods, Cateline? I understand that it was your first time going on a hunt."

"Yes, it was a pleasant experience, my Lord." Cateline replied, omitting her true opinions.

"Please, dear, call me Bryce. We are family, now that you are officially Aedan's betrothed."

Cateline blushed. "Thank you, Bryce."

"Your Highness!" A voice rumbled down the hallway leading to the dining chamber. It was Tolward, the estate's hulking and grey haired butler, bolting down toward them. He stopped abruptly, as per protocol. "A message, Your Highness, from the coastal guard." A bead of sweat rolled down the old man's temple.

Cailan raised an inquisitive brow and outstretched a hand, where Tolward placed a piece of parchment. The prince unrolled it easily, the bright yellow seal, reserved only for emergency messages, having already been broken by the butler. His expression turned grave, his skin pale and his voice shaky, uncertain, "It seems father is lost at sea."


	2. Chapter 2

_Dragon 9:25, Autumn  
_

Aedan looked on as a part of the crowd, away from Cailan, Loghain and his father, all three of them standing at the front of the assembly. He was a silent observer, the youngest son of a Teyrn, with no official say where he stood.

"And what about the Teyrn of Highever?" It was Bann Fosnick Eremon of the Waking Sea, his gravelly voice echoing throughout the Landsmeet chambers. "Should _he_ not be given some consideration toward the throne?"

There were mixed murmurs from the nobles.

"With all due respect to Cousland," Eamon said cautiously, "We did not take back Ferelden just to lose the royal line within a single generation. Surely, Cailan should be the one to take up the regency?"

The Theirin royalists voiced their agreement.

"Your fetish for Calenhad's blood will bring about the end of this nation, Eamon," spat Rendon Howe. "Cailan is still a boy!" Feeling attacked, the young prince straightened his posture in defiance. "Is it so wise to give the crown to someone so ill-equipped, just because of his -"

Loghain slammed his silverite gauntlets together, the loud clang ringing throughout the hall and snapping the attention of the nobles to its source, including Cailan. "Enough, Howe! You will show respect for your rightful king!"

"Well, he _isn't_ king," growled Howe, "not yet."

Aedan overheard Arl Urien of Denerim whisper to someone nearby, that Loghain was only supporting Cailan for the throne to gain influence through Anora and as a mentor. Perhaps the man was correct, perhaps he wasn't. Either way, Aedan knew and respected how deep Loghain's love for Ferelden went, how every action the war hero took was motivated by the hope that the nation would continue to flourish.

As for Howe, well, Aedan had always thought him to be overambitious and a little too self-interested. The Arl was an old friend of his father's, a brother in arms, something the opportunist would no doubt try to take advantage of if the Couslands really were to ascend to royalty. But he didn't mind; it was just politics, after all, as Anora often put it.

"Do _I_ get a say in this matter?" Bryce raised his hand in an attempt to silence the crowd. The noise died down. "Although I am honoured to even be considered for the throne, I am afraid I must decline. Not because of the issue of blood, but for stability. Would it really do the nation good, so soon after being freed from occupation, to have to carry the burden of such a drastic change in the monarchy? It was Maric that freed us. It is only fitting that his son _continues_ to lead us, to lead Ferelden.

"And I, for one, believe that Cailan is no longer the boy _you,_ old friend," Bryce motioned to Howe, "claim him to be. He is a man, capable and strong, and perhaps most importantly, he has a good heart. Is that not what is important in a ruler?"

Although Aedan believed that Cailan was in fact _not_ ready to take up the throne just yet, he did concede, in his own mind, that his father had raised a valid point. A ruler's character was just as important as his technical ability. Skills could be taught, by advisors, scholars and generals, whereas a person's character was far less malleable beyond a certain age.

The murmurs started again, but this time they were mostly of approval. Howe was silent, of course. Bryce, Loghain and the not-so-little Cailan shared a look, the three men coming to an unspoken agreement.

"Then let us decide, here and now," Cailan announced, eyes unusually full of determination. "Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet, who will swear fealty to me, Prince Cailan Theirin, as Ferelden's regent?"

Silence.

"Highever swears fealty, Your Highness." Bryce kneeled before the new regent, bowing low.

Loghain followed. "Gwaren also swears fealty."

With the two Teyrns having done so, the rest of the chamber had no other choice but to follow in declaring their allegiance to their newly appointed head of state.

* * *

"You will send out additional search parties into the sea, immediately," Cailan declared.

They were in the drawing room now, in the east wing of the royal palace, all sitting on luxurious couches surrounding the fireplace. The walls were filled with great paintings of great people created by great artists, only Maker knew how many Ages ago, with a central chandelier hanging proudly from the ceiling. Aedan found himself between Fergus, who was clearly itching to go out into the night and look for Maric himself, and Cateline, quietly sipping on a modest glass of brandy and trying her best to look composed. She was the only one with a drink.

"It is already done, but it still leaves the matter of financing," Loghain said, hands clasped and elbows on his knees. The lines in his face were deeper than usual. "We will search for Maric with all of the fleets we can muster, but we must also maintain a sizeable presence on land _and_ acquire a larger fleet if we are to organize a proper search. We must do nothing that may be taken as a sign of weakness, especially by the _Orlesians_." He said the last word with venom, then quickly glanced to Cateline as soon as he had, his expression equal parts apologetic and suspicious.

"It is unbecoming of you, _my lord_ ," Adriani said coldly, "to treat my future sister-in-law as an enemy of the state."

Loghain opened his mouth to retort.

"It's okay," Cateline assured softly, taking Adriani's hand in hers, wearing the best smile she could conjure.

"My apologies," Loghain said roughly, "I meant no offense."

"There is nothing to apologize for," Cateline replied, taking a rather large sip of her drink. She sounded genuine to Aedan, although whether it really was would be a matter for a later time.

"Then we are left with no choice." Bryce sighed, returning to the task at hand. "We will have to ask for our vassals' aid, if we are to keep the treasury from running dry." He looked to Cailan. "I offer my full support, of course."

The prince nodded in thanks.

"As do I." Loghain pinched his brow. "But many of the _others_ ," referring to the Arls and Banns, "aren't going to like it. We must pay careful attention to our rhetoric if we are to convince them to build us ships and offer up their men to guard the borders."

The group fell silent.

Anora was the first to speak again, her voice unwavering. "There may be an alternative solution." She hesitated, stealing a glance at Fergus, who was obliviously playing around with a bit of loose fabric on his dinner clothes. The future teyrn was a skilled warrior and a good leader, but only in battle; ever since he was little, Fergus had never been very patient during discussions such as these.

"What do you suggest, my dear?" Loghain encouraged, keen to hear what his daughter had to say.

"The idea is relatively simple, really. Fergus can marry Lady Oriana a year early."

The mentioning of his name perked Fergus' attention, although he was obviously confused. "What? Why? How would that help in any way?"

Anora's eyes went icy cold and Fergus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Aedan couldn't entirely blame her; his brother was a little dull sometimes. He interjected before the young Mac Tir could start her reprimand. "Oriana will come with a substantial sum of her father's money, brother, a dowry. Enough to build several fleets and to keep them deployed for years." The daughter of an _extremely_ wealthy merchant in Antiva, Oriana had been Fergus' betrothed for the last five years.

"That could work, yes," Bryce considered thoughtfully, "That could work. The only difficulty would be convincing the Chantry to recognize the marriage of a seventeen-year-old boy."

Aedan had always wondered why the Chantry insisted that men could not marry until they were eighteen, while there were no such restrictions for women. The number 'eighteen' seemed arbitrary, but that was just how things were.

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Loghain declared with confidence. "The Grand Cleric will surely support our cause."

"I wish I were as confident as you are. After all, they claim their allegiance is with the Maker, first and foremost. I will have a word with Elemena, though, first thing tomorrow morning."

"No," Cailan objected loudly, probably a little more so than he had intended. "No," he repeated, voice lowered, " _I_ will speak to Cleric Elemena. If she is to bend the laws of the Maker for the sake of my father, it would only be proper that his son asks her to do so."

"Well said." It was Eleanor, who had thus far remained silent, her expression glowing with warmth. "It is settled then."

"I have no objections about the plan, by the way. You know, if anyone wanted to hear what I had to say, or anything," Fergus joked, deadpan.

Anora tried and failed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. The others shared a laugh, a reprieve from the dire topic they had been discussing.

Cailan smiled from ear to ear, before turning somewhat sheepish. Loghain placed a reassuring hand on the regent's shoulder. "You will be fine. Be respectful, but not a coward. Do not let her bully _you_ , ruler of Ferelden."

The door on the west end of the room opened, gently, and Parry, the palace butler, announced that dinner was ready to be served.

* * *

Aedan walked groggily through the dark hallway, the candles extinguished near the guest bedchambers unlike the rest of the palace. He had awoken in the middle of the night, his throat terribly dry. The dinner roast had been especially salty. He walked quietly, careful not to wake anybody up, making his way to the stairs that led down to the cheese cellar. Being an adolescent boy, he was almost always peckish and up for a snack.

The palace was mostly silent. He could make out the gentle autumn breeze outside through an open window, the rustling of trees, his own slipper-padded footsteps, of course, and … _weeping?_

He stopped by the door to his left. It was Cateline's. His throat suddenly felt even drier and he gulped emptily. Raising his fist to the door, he hesitated a little, then proceeded with three quiet raps, so gentle that nobody else could hear.

The crying stopped abruptly.

"It's Aedan," the young lord whispered. Not sure of what to say, exactly, he fell silent.

A pause.

"Yes?" Cateline whispered back eventually.

Another pause.

"Well, you see, I was going downstairs for some water and cheese, but, well, mother doesn't really like it when I snack in the middle of the night. You know how mothers can be." Cateline remained silent. "So, I was thinking that if _you_ were to accompany me, then even if we were to get caught, she would let me off lightly."

Aedan heard movement on the other side. The door opened, and there Cateline stood in her nightgown and slippers, which was just about all he could make out in the dark. "Just this once," she whispered.

Aedan grinned.

* * *

The warm light of a candle placed atop the table filled the otherwise dark and cheesy room. Roll upon roll of a countless variety of cheeses populated the shelves, each marked with a detailed label. The pair sat on either side of the table, each with a glass of water, and Aedan with a generous serving of dairy delight.

He put his fork down on his plate, still only midway through his snack. "Sorry about earlier tonight." Cateline looked confused, genuinely, raising a brow. "You know, when Loghain was being…"

"Like I said, there is nothing to be sorry about," Cateline assured quickly.

"No. I should have defended you. It wasn't a direct insult, but I still should have defended you." Aedan clenched his fists. He had failed her. "You are my betrothed, and I owe you that much."

The young girl turned scarlet, made clear and apparent without her usual makeup. "You owe me nothing," she mumbled, her voice barely audible and with a smile that brought Aedan more joy than any cheese ever could.

He looked at the woman sitting opposite him and realized that, come to think of it, this was the first time he had ever witnessed Cateline's bare face. He observed closely, taking in the elegance of her features; her deep green eyes, her sharp nose, her supple cheeks, the tiny little mole just to the left of her lips, her _lips_ , glowing in its natural pale pink under the candlelight.

He felt a sudden fullness in his groin.

He cleared his throat, picked up the fork and resumed his assault on the remainder of the cheese.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dragon 9:26, Summer_

Aedan awoke in his bed, rubbing his eyes as the gentle sunlight seeped in through the windows. He tugged on the rope at his bedside, connected to a bell just outside his room. The young lord laid there lazily, taking a moment for himself before the ravages of the day. It wasn't long until his Gentleman of the Bedchamber, Oswick, entered the quarters. The man was of average height and average build, with brown hair and brown eyes and twenty-eight years of age; physically unremarkable.

Seeing that Aedan was still lying on his bed, Oswick smirked. "Shall I return later, my lord?"

Aedan groaned, shaking his head as if were willing himself to depart from the comfort of his sheets. "No, no," he mumbled, "I'll get up." He hobbled out of bed.

"Are you certain? Because _I_ am certain that those sheets look very comfortable indeed."

Glaring at his friend, Aedan did his best to straighten his posture. "Shut up." He turned his back to the servant, arms spread out wide.

"Very well, my Lord," said Oswick, clearly pleased with himself. He moved in closer, helping Aedan take off his white silk nightshirt. Out of the corner of his eye, on the bedside table, he spotted a rather fresh looking tome. "What leaves you in such a mess? A little too much to drink? A secret liaison with a tavern wench, perhaps?"

Aedan chuckled as he relinquished his nightshirt over the top of his head. " _Very_ funny."

"A good book, then?"

"'The Art of the Flank' by Ser Winslor of Denerim. Newly published." The nobleman, now in his small clothes, turned to face Oswick. "It's really quite engrossing, actually, delving into the mind of such a genius strategist."

"Oh yes, very engrossing, I'm sure," the servant remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No, seriously. Who knew there were so many different methods of exploiting an enemy's flank?" Aedan enthused. "I bet you haven't heard of the _Penetrator's Gambit_ ," he bragged.

Oswick's smirk grew wider. "Perhaps it truly _is_ engrossing, after all." He offered up the towel in his hand.

Aedan raised a brow, his face impassive. His servant's meaning finally registered in his mind and he let out a small grin. "Very funny, _again_. Keep this up and you'll finally be able to fulfil your dream of becoming the castle jester, Oswick." He whipped up the towel and headed to the adjacent room, where a steaming hot bath awaited him.

* * *

Aedan dug into his breakfast with gusto, slipping the occasional piece of bacon to Paazuh, the family Mabari. Eventually, he noticed the now trademark fragrance of lilacs and faint lime approaching nearby.

"Good morning," Cateline greeted as she entered the dining chamber. Fergus, Adriani and Aedan returned the greeting as she served herself some scrambled eggs and took a seat opposite her betrothed. "How is little Oren coming along?"

"Almost there," Fergus replied through a mouthful of bacon, "Almost there. The healers say any day now the little one will pop out of her."

"You know, it might not even be an 'Oren'," Adriani pointed out.

Fergus shrugged. "It's a boy, Adriani, I just know it. The Maker has spoken to me," he joked.

"I hope you are indeed correct," the Cousland girl said with apprehension, "for the baby's sake."

"Well, either way, at least it'll be all over for poor Oriana, lumbering around with all of that extra weight for the better part of a year," Aedan remarked.

"How _unromantic_ of you to say such a thing." Adriani sighed. "It's not just _extra weight_ , you brute. It's a new life, _growing_ inside of you."

Aedan squirmed at the thought. "Is that image supposed to warm me to the idea, dear sister, because I must say, it is having quite the opposite effect."

The young girl pouted and turned to Cateline. "You agree with me, don't you?"

"Of course, I do," Cateline replied to Adriani, before turning to Aedan, her gaze locking with his. "I believe it to be one of the highest honours the Maker may bestow on someone, to carry a life."

That familiar heat struck Aedan in that familiar place. He brushed the feeling aside, an act he was still in the process of mastering, although he was getting more than enough practice at it. Cateline had been living at Castle Cousland for a little over a year now, a gesture of peace between Ferelden and Orlais, which was the whole point of their pairing in the first place. But it was almost too much to bare; his betrothed was young and beautiful, and he was a fifteen-year-old boy, still forbidden from _being together_.

They weren't a part of the peasantry; they were nobles, whose blood was powerful and important, and yet, in a way, very fragile. People of _his_ kind could not afford to risk bearing a child before a proper marriage sanctioned by the Chantry and, by extension, the Maker Himself.

"Indeed," Fergus said, saving his younger brother from some embarrassment, "I am just glad that I'm not the one who has to bear the pain." He chuckled, mostly to himself, before changing the subject. "By the way, Adriani, how is your painting coming along? The one of the castle."

Adriani's frown disappeared, replaced by something more pleasant. "Oh, it's my best work yet, if I say so myself. I've _finally_ gotten the shadows _just_ right, I think."

* * *

"We _are_ happy together, you know," Oriana remarked as she rubbed her round belly, "Fergus and I."

Cateline, caught a little off guard, merely raised her eyebrows toward her sister-in-law sitting beside her. They were out in the fields by the castle, sitting on hard but durable wooden chairs. "Of course, you are." A careful smile touched her lips.

"I was very worried. Of course, father and mother had been _put together_ in a similar fashion, and Fergus _is_ the heir of the Teyrnir." Oriana sighed. "Still, living with a total stranger, spending your nights with him? A year early? Of all reasons, too."

At a loss for words, Cateline simply remained silent.

"To think that I would be as happy with my life as I am now, that I would love him as much as I do, I never would have guessed when I had first arrived here." Oriana smiled to herself, returning her attention to her husband and his younger brother sparring in the distance.

"I can only hope to be able to say the same in a few years' time."

"Oh, you will. I am certain of it."

* * *

Fergus landed a kick square in Aedan's chest, knocking him down onto his back, shield arm flung aside and rendered useless. The elder Cousland pointed his blunted training blade toward the younger, only a few inches of space separating metal and the winded boy's throat. "You are beaten." Fergus looked fierce, but his expression quickly warmed, replacing his sword with an outstretched hand. " _Again_ ," he added. The man hadn't broken a sweat.

Ser Windmore's training, all those hours spent practicing and sparring, it was no match for Fergus' speed and strength. Upset, Aedan ignored his brother's offer, raising himself to his feet using his sword as a crutch. "Why do I even," he complained, panting," Why do I even agree to these things? I've _never_ won, not even once."

"Never? Surely, after all this time you would have bested me _at least_ once?"

Aedan rolled his eyes. "You're twice my size, anyway." He was exaggerating of course, although Fergus, who was eighteen, really was larger in frame by no small amount.

"There may come a time when you are forced into combat with someone far more terrible than I, where running won't be an option. Where the only thing standing between evil and the ones you love is yourself." Fergus placed a hand on his brother's shoulder as they made their way back to the women. "I just want you to be prepared."

"I know," Aedan mumbled. He noticed Cateline's gaze as she drew nearer into his vision and the aching in his back lessened, if only a little.

Oriana looked a little cross. "You mustn't be so rough, husband. It's a sparring match, not a battle to the death." She chose her words carefully, so as to not sting Aedan's pride.

"His enemies will spare him no quarter," replied Fergus, a little roughly. Oriana looked mildly taken aback and he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. It's just," he hesitated, "well, never mind." Shaking his head, Fergus put on a cheery mask. "Anyone in the mood for some tea?" he asked, placing a hand on his wife's hip and leading them back to the castle.

Aedan and Cateline trailed behind them.

"You use a sword and shield."

Aedan looked to his sword, now safely sheathed in his scabbard, and his shield, the Cousland heraldry proudly on display. "Yes, I do," he said, confused as to why his betrothed would state such a truism.

"Have you tried anything else? In terms of arms, I mean." She wrapped her fingers together, pursing her lips.

"Oh, all sorts. Spears, battle axes, duel wielding swords. Bows too, but you already know how I am with those especially."

"Say, have you ever tried a single longsword, just by itself?"

Aedan couldn't help but raise a brow in surprise. "By itself?" Cateline nodded. "But then what about the offhand? Just leave it dangling?"

His betrothed chuckled. "How about this? Tomorrow, at dusk, meet me at the stables."

Aedan's eyebrows compressed together this time. "Uh, okay, but for what?" His pulse quickened.

"It will be a surprise," Cateline replied, her voice tinted with mischief. "Oh, and come in this," she pinched at Aedan's leather chest piece, "and bring your longsword."

Aedan's pulse slowed back down. Now he was just confused.

* * *

A night owl, Aedan made his way down to the castle library to fetch a book for some late-night reading, when he was surprised to find that the fire was still lit, a squint-eyed Fergus hunching over something. He was sitting in the leather couch by the fire.

"Is that a _book_ you are reading?"

Fergus, who had been so engrossed in his book, almost jumped out of his seat. "Maker. You almost scared me to death." He sighed, composing himself. "Is it really that surprising for you to find me here?"

"I'm afraid so," Aedan said as he headed over to the shelf filled with books about naval warfare. He and Fergus resembled each other physically; their face, hair colour and at times even posture. The same could _not_ be said for their personalities and interests. "More so, at this time of night. Which one is it?"

Another sigh escaped Fergus, heavier than before. He slouched into the couch, slamming the book shut. " _The Fourth Blight, A Brief History_."

Aedan had read the book in the past. "Ah. Tales of Grey Wardens riding on griffons, swooping in to save Thedas from succumbing to the darkspawn?"

"Yep, that's the one."

Fergus stared off into the fire, eyes uncertain. It was discomforting.

"It is obvious something is troubling you," Aedan said, taking the military treatise _On Pirating_ from its place in the shelves. "What is the matter?"

Fergus hesitated. "I've been talking to Loghain, you see, and he has some _concerns_ about a fifth Blight, says that it's more a matter of _when_ rather than _if_ , and he believes Ferelden is unprepared, to put it lightly."

"Another Blight? You should've skipped to the end of the book, like you always did for the readings Aldous gave you. The final days of the Fourth Blight was a massacre for the darkspawn." Aedan set himself down on the couch across his brother.

"See, that's just the problem. No one believes the darkspawn to be a threat anymore, even when we know so little about how any of it all works. Where does the Archdemon come from? Why do they appear? And think about it. This is _Loghain_ we are talking about, one of the most skilled generals of Ferelden and the man you worship for his military insight."

"I do not _worship_ him," Aedan denied, perhaps a little too quickly. "Although you may have a point."

Silence set itself between them.

"Perhaps I am being overcautious," Fergus lifted himself up, his tone convincingly light enough.

"I certainly hope so." Aedan put on his best attempt at a reassuring smile. "And what does the regent make of it?"

"He's excited, of course, although I suspect he may have read one too many fairy tales of griffon riders and Archdemon slaying. I fear he may be in for a nasty surprise if the darkspawn truly return."

"I see."

Aedan grimaced. Father had always said that there was very little glory in a real war. The last thing the nation needed was a mad ruler who was overly keen to throw themselves at the enemy after only hearing about battle in children's stories. It was more than just a relief to have someone like Loghain on their side.

"Anyhow, this _highly irregular_ reading session has drained my mind of all its strength, and thus I am off to bed. Good night, dear brother," said Fergus, leaving Aedan in the library with his thoughts.

* * *

"There you are." Cateline was already waiting by a mount in the stable, her features hidden in the darkness of dusk. Aedan could make out her general silhouette, however, and it was clear that she was dressed in her leather armour, just as he was. It was strange, seeing the Orlesian lady out of her frilly dresses and her fancy shoes. "I was afraid you had decided not to come."

"Never," Aedan replied. "So, where are we off to?" He silently noted her longsword, sheathed in a scabbard by her hip.

"Down there." Cateline pointed to the woods in the east. Aedan raised a brow on instinct, despite the darkness. Somehow, she caught his apprehension. "We won't be going in too deep. Trust me."

Aedan nodded and mounted the horse, offering his betrothed a hand to help her up onto the saddle, behind him. She remained still.

"I was wondering if," Cateline hesitated. "Could you teach me how to ride? You know I've never ridden before, and well, if I get over my first go now, even if I embarrass myself, there would be no one else around."

"Very well, I will teach you. There is no need to be so embarrassed, you know. Let me get another mount for you." Aedan was about to slide off the saddle when his betrothed stopped him with a hand to his thigh.

"I don't think I'll be able to handle a horse on my own just yet."

"Uh, okay, but then how are you going to-" Aedan stopped abruptly, finally understanding where this was leading.

He slid backwards, making room at the front of the saddle, offering his hand once more. Cateline took it this time, with a certain eagerness, Aedan noted, allowing himself a small sense of glee, and she mounted herself onto the saddle comfortably, legs astride and her buttocks pressing firmly against his parted thighs, where his armour was excruciatingly absent.

Even in battle gear, she smelled of lilacs and lime. It was only then, being so close behind her, that Aedan noticed that her blonde and usually elaborately styled hair had been tied up into a neat little bun. The way it revealed the back of her neck was almost too much to bare.

He forced himself to grab the reins, guiding them gently into her hands, prompting her to take them. He carefully guided the horse out of the stables, blabbering on to her about details of riding techniques that would be of no real help to her, if only to keep his mind off the situation he found himself in. Soon they were out and making steady progress toward the woods.

Once they were underway, however, it was surprisingly calming, blissful even. The cool air whipped by him, muscles that he hadn't even realized were tense, relaxing. It felt good and it felt right.

All too soon they arrived at their destination and Aedan helped Cateline slow the mount down to a stop, just by a large oak which they leashed it to. His betrothed patted the horse on its head, thanking it, before motioning him to follow her into the woods.

Eventually, they came upon a small clearing. The sun was starting to rise now, a faint brightness leaking into the woods. Cateline scanned the surroundings, nodding to herself in approval. "This will do."

"For what?"

She turned around. "Training." Aedan could almost see her face now, well enough to see the playful smile she wore. "You say you've never trained with a single longsword by itself. I would like to teach you."

"You're going to teach me?" Aedan blurted in his state of utter confusion. " _You_ are going to teach _me_ about blade work?"

Cateline fell silent, her expression growing serious. She spun a half circle on her heels, head down, and walked away from him.

Aedan pinched his brow. "Wait. If I have insulted you, I apologize," he called after her. "It was not my-"

He heard a blade unsheathe. A blur. Suddenly there was a longsword, pointed straight into his face, only inches away from contact. Aedan stumbled back on instinct, losing his footing, and he found himself down in the dirt on his backside.

For a brief moment, everything was still. He gazed into his betrothed's eyes, physically identical to every other time he had looked upon them, but his perception had changed. He now saw in them a hidden ferocity, tempered only through years upon years of exposure to Orlesian refinement, no doubt. He swallowed in disbelief.

"What is this?" Aedan managed.

The fierce expression evaporated into thin air, her face overcome by a sympathetic smile. She giggled softly. "I'm sorry," she apologised shyly, "but I wanted to make a point. You wouldn't have listened to a word I said, had I not given you a _demonstration_ of my ability."

"Certainly not," Aedan admitted, shaking his head vigorously until he felt that he was himself again. He took her hand, raising himself onto his feet. "Where did you learn such a skill?"

"My uncle, well, he isn't a real uncle, but a close friend of my mother, nonetheless, is a decorated chevalier. He taught me."

"Is that a usual part of the curriculum for the schooling of Orlesian noblewomen?"

Aedan noticed Cateline hesitate briefly. "No, but Ser Gervante insisted that he train me. I have a talent for it, according to him."

"Obviously, he was correct, indeed, but what exactly is _it_? I have never seen or even read of such a thing."

"It was originally of the ancient elves, before the fall of their civilization, and they called it Vahshalli. Although no one can say for certain, it was apparently developed by the first of the arcane warriors, allowing them to fight with a blade in one hand and cast spells with their other."

It made sense to Aedan. The fighting style was obviously more dexterity than strength. A sudden thought popped into his mind. "Wait, wait. You aren't a mage, are you?"

Cateline shook her head, smiling. "Don't worry. Your betrothed is no apostate. The modern Vahshalli, adopted by us Orlesians, require these," she held up her offhand, wrapped in a dull metal gauntlet, "although they provide only a fraction of the utility magic would have provided for the ancients. Your leather will do for the time being, but that comes later." Cateline's expression turned into something equal parts playful and serious. "First, you must draw your weapon."

And he did.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dragon 9:26, Summer_

The carriage rocked as it went over the familiar bump on its way to town, startled birds flapping away from the neighing horses. Adriani leaned forward toward the front seats. "So, I was thinking we could stop by Daggner's first, see if he has anything suitable on offer. What do you think?"

Nireen, Adriani's lady's maid, looked over her shoulder. "Sir Daggner's does sound promising, my Lady. Perhaps he will have stocked some new books fitting for His Lordship?"

Adriani furrowed her brows. "I hope so, although he _is_ gifted books so often. I wonder if I should try something else this year, but what? Oh, I should have brought Cateline along. She's so much better at these things." Rubbing her brow, she turned to the man sitting beside her servant. "What do _you_ think, Ser Gareth?"

The knight perked up at the sound of his name, turning back quickly. "Orlesians are indeed known for their extravagance, my Lady."

Adriani suppressed a giggle, her mouth curving into a smile. "No, no. Not about that. I was wondering if you had any ideas to offer regarding His Lordship's present. You know, the whole reason we're going into town today?"

"Forgive me," Ser Gareth said quickly. "I'm afraid I couldn't say. I am not very good with gifts myself."

Adriani sighed. "Darn." She leaned back into her seat, bathing in the rays of the scorching sun. "How is little Penny, by the way? Is she getting along fine?"

"She turns five this year." Ser Gareth grinned. "Not a care in the world. Turning into a bit of a feisty one, though. I think she gets it from her mother."

"Oh, girls need a little fight in them," Nireen said. "Can't get much done without any fight."

Something whizzed by and one of the horses neighed loudly. "Easy!" the carriage driver shouted, whipping the reins. The carriage rocked with violence, abruptly coming to a stop and almost flinging Adriani out of her seat.

Ser Gareth stood up quickly, looking over to the horses. His eyes widened, hand instinctively going down to the hilt of his weapon. "Get down, Lady Adriani!" The blade was only halfway out of its scabbard when an arrow struck him in the neck, covering the horses in his blood. He stood still for a moment, spluttering and grabbing at his throat before collapsing with a heavy thud. Another arrow whizzed by and Adriani caught a glimpse of the carriage driver collapsing off his seat as she braced as low as she could.

Heavy footsteps. Men. Four, five. No, six or seven of them.

Adriani calmed herself, clasping her shaking hands together. For the first time in years, she prayed to the Maker in earnest. A hand reached down and grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her up to face him.  
"You're coming with me, princess." The man spat, his contorted face and crooked teeth filling her vision, while the pungent stench of his breath filled her sinuses. He turned to his fellow bandits. "Grab her too," he ordered, pointing to Nireen, licking his broken lips. "And get rid of those damn bodies!"

* * *

The man from earlier walked inside the dark tent, his face illuminated by the setting sun on the horizon. "I could tell you were a spoiled brat from how shiny your carriage was, but to think you were the daughter of the Teyrn himself." The man cackled, almost wheezing, his skin cracked and dirty. "We certainly hit the mark today, didn't we?" he asked the bound and gagged Adriani. He leered, bearing his yellow teeth. "Name's Dredger, and don't worry, love. You'll be fine. Want you to fetch us a good price, you know? Can't say the same for your friend, though." He scratched his groin absent-mindedly. "Cheer up. It'll all be over soon. We've delivered a note to your father already."

* * *

"So, what do we do?" Oriana asked.

They were in the main hall, all standing around a table in front of the fireplace; small, wooden and passed down through the generations as everything else was in the castle. Atop it was a rough piece of parchment with a messily scribbled message. It was obvious that the writer was poorly educated, if at all.

"We give them what they want, of course," Eleanor blurted. "What else is there to do?"

"I'm afraid it is not that simple, my dear," Bryce said.

Taken aback, the Teyrna clenched her fists. "What _part_ are you having difficulty understanding? They have our child, _our daughter._ "

Aedan grabbed a nearby chair and slumped into it, slamming his eyes shut. "You already know very well, mother." Eleanor scowled at him, before she turned away, eyes moist.

"Well I _don't_ ," declared Fergus. "Just go to the meeting place in town and give them the money they're asking for."

Aedan pinched his brow, exhaling deeply. He was not in the mood for his brother's idiocy. "We give them the ransom, and then what?"

"And then we get our sister back! They won't push their luck if they know what's good for them."

"But then after that? If it happens again, and I assure you, if we give in tonight it _will_ happen again, we pay them then as well? It'll be like painting a huge target on each and every one of us, not to mention the people we govern and protect, people who rely on us to defend them."

Fergus looked to his parents. His father nodded sombrely. "We can just improve our defences, be more cautious than we have been until now."

"We _don't_ negotiate with criminals, brother. We cut them down and skewer their heads onto sticks."

"But this is Adriani!"

"She's my sister too!" Aedan jumped up out of his seat, jaws tightened. "But this is more than just about us. We cannot show our enemies any weakness, any mercy."

Fergus slammed his fist on the table. "No! I won't let you do this. I won't let you risk-"

Bryce raised his hand, silencing his son instantly as if the young man had choked on his words. "Enough." The Teyrn looked to the knights who were standing by only a few metres away from them. "Ser Warrick, gather a platoon of men and hounds and hunt these bastards down, discreetly. Make sure they do not see us coming. Fergus and I will accompany you." The knight gave a cross armed salute, bowing deeply. The Teyrn nodded to his eldest.

Fergus returned the gesture, the anger in his eyes all but dissipated, determination taking its place in equal ferocity.

"I'm coming too," Aedan declared.

" _You_ will stay put." Bryce replied with his palm once more as his son tried to retort.

Aedan sighed resignedly. It made sense, of course. It would be foolish to risk the lives of all the potential heirs to Highever at once. He would have to remain within the confines of the castle, safe and hidden away from danger, out of the line of duty. He fell into his chair once more.

Cateline placed a careful hand on her betrothed's shoulder.

Bryce and Fergus spoke to their wives and then they were off.

* * *

"Make sure no one outside the castle hears about this," Aedan ordered, grimacing. "Not yet, anyway. Father can decide what to do when he returns." With Eleanor gone off to pray with Mother Mallol, the young lord was left in effective charge of the castle. It was uncharacteristic of his mother, to break down powerlessly the way she had, but he couldn't fault her. Adriani was her only daughter, after all.

Blair, the balding steward of Castle Cousland, dressed in elegant clothing and only a step down from actual nobility himself, nodded. "Of course, my Lord. And what of the servants? Shall they be notified about the situation?"

"No," Aedan replied quickly. "Just make something up about valuable jewels being lost or something. A hunt, even. Continue to operate the castle as usual. It's time like these when a sense of normalcy is at its most valuable."

"As you wish, my Lord." Blair bowed deeply, stepping away and out of the main hall.

Soon after, Aedan left the room himself, together with his betrothed.

"It's almost time for dinner," Cateline said absent-mindedly, staring up toward the darkening sky, "although I'm afraid I do not have much of an appetite."

Aedan sighed tiredly, his figure deflating. "Neither do I." He furrowed his brow, head sunk and trying to push away thoughts of his sister, bound and helpless. "But I must carry on. It is my duty."

Cateline took Aedan's hand, kindly, gently. "It's _our_ duty," she corrected. Her warmth coursed into him. "Now, let us change," she said, smiling brightly. "Teldrin will have our heads otherwise."

* * *

"What? Why? Is Her Ladyship feeling unwell?" Teldrin asked, eyes bewildered.

Blair stared down at the elf, lesser in both stature and rank. "A little. No need to panic, Teldrin. It's only dinner."

"Yes, exactly," Teldrin replied with exasperation, trying his best to stand his ground. "It's _dinner_. And what about the rest of the family? His Lordship and Lord Fergus on a night time hunt?"

"And who are _you_ to question their desires, knife ears?"

Teldrin ignored the slur. "But Lord Fergus _never_ misses dinner. Not ever."

"Enough. No more questions. You will do as you are told, or I will be speaking to His Lordship about a possible replacement for the position of castle butler. Meals are your domain. Do _not_ overstep it."

Teldrin scowled. "Very well," he said coldly. One last glare and he left the steward's office, slamming the door shut behind him. He made his way to the dining chamber at a fast pace, compensating for his short strides.

The servants, finished with the dinner preparations, were just about to leave when Teldrin finally arrived. "Wait!" He blocked their paths with authority, puffing out his chest and taking up as much space as possible and yet still smaller than even the housemaids. He motioned to the manservants. "Tonight's dinner will be for three. Lord Aedan, Lady Cateline and Lady Oriana. Take away the extra chairs and rearrange the table."

To his relief, the servants complied, no questions asked. He watched over them carefully, making sure that everything was in order, that every little piece was in the right place. An eagle, scanning over its domain in search of prey. It wasn't long until he spotted a fork not in parallel with its accompanying handcloth, left carelessly behind by Mathian, the new manservant. Teldrin swooped in quickly, aligning the fork and the handcloth together, erasing the evil that the younger servant had inflicted upon the table. He let out a sigh of relief, giving nothing but a glare to the offender. Mathian nodded sheepishly and scampered out of the room, along with the rest of the servants once they were finished, all except for the footmen, who were dressed in their deep green uniforms, reserved only for those that served the family their meals.

Teldrin soon left the chamber himself, heading toward the sturdy rope just beside the door. He took a moment, straightening his robe and posture, before giving the rope a two-handed tug, effecting the bell suspended several metres above to ring loudly throughout the castle. Pleased, he moved to his position, just to the left of the entrance to the drawing room on the opposite wall, and stood at attention.

* * *

"Paazuh's sense of smell has always been top notch, even among his kind," Aedan said. "I can only pray that he will serve us well tonight."

"They couldn't have taken her far if the note instructs for the money to be brought to town." Oswick straightened out the pearls embedded into the shoulders of Aedan's coat. The young lord replied only with his expression, full of doubt and worry. "I am sure they will all be fine, my Lord."

"Are you the Maker?" Aedan asked harshly. "Are you? No, you are not, which means you _cannot_ be sure of anything, just like the rest of us." His servant continued in silence. He composed himself quickly. "I'm sorry, that was out of line. I know you only mean well."

The sky was pitch black, only the candles spread about illuminating the room.

Finished with being dressed, Aedan left his room, quickly making his way toward the drawing room for a much needed drink. Drink always made things better, if only by the tiniest margin. He nodded to Teldrin, who, prim and perfect as ever, bowed deeply in return and opened the door for him. Inside, Cateline and a very pregnant Oriana were sitting side by side on the three-seat couch in front of the fireplace. His betrothed already had a brandy in hand. He headed straight to the table of bottles and made his own glass, overcoming the temptation to pour himself a more ambitious amount. There was no knowing what could happen, and with mother trapping herself inside the chapel, he had to be prepared to act.

* * *

"That's definitely it," Fergus whispered to his father, both of them crouched low in the bushes.

The older Cousland narrowed his eyes, sharpening his vision. "Fools. Setting up so close to the river. Where did they think we would look first? They even have a fire too."

Out in the clearing in front of them stood eight large tents, all surrounding a small campfire, the smoke floating up into the air. Paazuh snorted.

"Good boy." Fergus petted the hound, who wagged his tail happily.

Bryce signalled Ser Warrick behind him, who nodded and turned to give orders to his platoon of thirty. The soldiers of Highever spread themselves in a circle around the bandit camp silently, despite being hunkered down by their heavy amour. The occasional clink and clank of metal was drowned out by the sound of the burning fire, or was too quiet for the drunkards' ears to catch. Eight tents, three per person. He estimated their forces to be about twenty-four or so. The numbers were in their favour, and clearly, so was the Maker, but he didn't thank Him yet.

"Looks like they're in position now." Fergus drew his weapon silently, gripping his two-handed battle axe with affection.

Bryce nodded, taking a deep breath before hitting the pommel of his short sword against the Cousland heraldry on the shield strapped to his offhand.

The two Couslands rushed in time with their men, swarming the pitiful camp in an instant. The bandits looked around in a panic, scrambling for their weapons. The two forces clashed, metal on metal, and soon the circular formation shrinking upon its prey broke into chaos.

Fergus roared, swinging with speed against the wooden shield of a lone bandit, crushing through it with ease. The bandit lost his footing, stumbling backwards, and the young Cousland planted a kick right into his sternum. Fergus swung his axe once more, but this time it took his enemies head clean off, the terrified expression flying into the air.

He looked around for signs of his father, when a blade came flying into his vision. He ducked the horizontal swipe, striking his foe with the blunt end of his axe under the chin. The bandit fell unconscious and the young lord disposed of him quickly.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a particularly filthy bandit scowl and whip out a knife, leaping inside one of the larger fur tents. There could have only been one thing, or _person_ rather, inside. Fergus sprinted, as fast as he ever had in his life, past Ser Warrick, who was _cleaning up_ one of the last remaining criminals still left standing.

He burst into the room, roaring, but the sight he was met with silenced him quickly. The filthy bandit, encased in a thin layer of ice, motionless, face full of fury and his knife pointed straight toward a bound and gagged Adriani. The girl's eyes were shut tightly, her hands raised and shaky.

A storm of emotions and thoughts rushed over him in an almost crippling wave. Joy at the safety of his sister, rage at the bandits for the pain they had inflicted upon her, confusion about the situation and, finally, realization. He acted quickly, knowing that his father and Ser Warrick were no doubt fast approaching the tent themselves. "It's alright, Adriani. It's me," he whispered, putting away his weapon, cradling her into his arms and lifting her off the ground. She opened her eyes widely, her eyelids quickly relaxing as she was carried out of the tent in the refuge of Fergus' arms.

He took her over to the approaching men, handing her over to the trembling arms of his father. The rest of the men circled around their master and his daughter, eager to see the young lady safe and sound.

Fergus thanked the Maker for their loyalty, picked up a large, abandoned jug of some poorly distilled spirit and a burning torch, before returning to the icy confines of the tent. He took a good look at the bandit, rapt by the man's complete stillness, but it was only upon close inspection that he noticed that his eyes were following him. It granted him a sick satisfaction. He kicked the bandit onto the ground, the ice at the man's feet breaking quietly, and he poured the spirit over the tent and body. With the jug emptied, he stepped outside, dropping the torch behind him.

He made his way to Bryce and Adriani, who was free of bindings by then and sitting on a log by the fire.

"You burned the tent down?" Ser Warrick asked.

Fergus grunted roughly. "I couldn't help myself," he lied, stealing a glance toward his father, concerned only with comforting his precious daughter and completely oblivious to their exchange.

Seemingly satisfied with the young lord's answer, Ser Warrick only took a final, brief glimpse at the burning pile of fur before Bryce asked him to gather the men and look for Adriani's maid. Not a single soldier's life had been lost, apparently.

Fergus took a seat beside his sister on the log, putting her between his father and himself. "Did they hurt you?"

Adriani shook her head weakly. "No, no. Not me. They didn't lay a finger on me, but Nireen. You have to find Nireen."

Bryce wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulder.

"Ser!" one of the soldiers called out to the knight, "we've found her."

Adriani almost leapt out of her seat, but her father kept her in place with his arm. Ser Warrick made his way to the tent and peeked inside, before turning back to the Teyrn. He shook his head, sombre.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to all for your kind words!  
_

* * *

 _Dragon 9:27, Winter_

Vaughan wrung the little elf by the wrist, flinging her out of the hallway and into the darkness of the pantry. He slammed her into the wall, pinning her against it roughly and she let out a yelp. He silenced her, one hand on the mouth and the other choking her by the neck. "So, the whore has some spirit, does she?" He couldn't help but laugh when the only reply he received was a desperate glare. "We're going to have a _lot_ of fun." He hit her with a backhand, sending her tumbling onto the ground. Another slap for good measure, this time on the other cheek, and then he went to the still partly open door to shut it close.

The door swung open widely, just barely missing Vaughan as he dodged backwards. It was a man, clearly a servant and somewhat familiar. His eyes darted from the nobleman to the panting elf on the ground, tears streaming down her reddening cheeks, and then back. "His Highness is asking for you, my lord," he said, his tone a poor imitation of nonchalance.

"The Prince is asking for me? Are you sure he did not ask for my father?" Vaughan asked, sceptic.

"I am certain."

"Well, whatever for? I've hardly had much to do with the ceremony tomorrow. What could he possibly want with me?"

"Of that I am _not_ certain. All I was told was that His Highness wished to see you, that is all. Unless, of course, you are otherwise," a pause, as the servant's eyes directed themselves to the elf once more, " _preoccupied_ , my lord."

"No, no." Vaughan waved his hand, exasperated. "The Prince will have his way." The servant bowed lightly, stepping aside to make way for him, and he passed the man by. Putting on his most charming expression and voice, he turned behind him. "Say, I believe I've seen you around before, but I'm afraid I do not know your name."

The servant straightened. "Oswick, my lord, Gentleman of the Bedchamber for Lord Aedan Cousland."

"Ah, yes, of course. Well, pleasure to make your acquaintance Oswick."

* * *

"Listen to me," Loghain said, frustrated. "It is the wrong way to go about it."

Stopping himself from shrinking back into the confines of his seat, Cailan straightened and puffed his chest. "It's the way forward, Loghain. Your distrust of the Empress is becoming tiring. She is a good woman."

"Please tell me you have not truly been deceived by her warm words and pretty smiles," Anora said coldly. "You are aware that Ferelden is widely considered to be the birthplace of Andraste? It would be all too easy for Celene to convince her people to retake the _holy lands_." She exhaled sharply, attempting to regain some composure. "Please, husband, have some _sense_."

Aedan could not help but note how shaken the soon to be queen was. "I understand your intentions, Cailan," he offered cautiously, "but would it really be so wise to allow Orlesian troops to pour freely into our lands? To endanger the women and children?"

Bryce gave a brief glance of approval toward his youngest son. "He's right. You must think of what you owe the people. They must always come first. Without _them_ , _we_ are nothing."

"I _am_ thinking of them! We've made so much progress with Orlais. Trade routes, peace treaties, among other things." Cailan motioned to Aedan. "Preventing a crisis _together_ would only solidify our alliance, which is exactly what we need going on into the _future_."

The room fell silent, the five of them deep in thought.

"Well, we don't even know for sure if a Blight _will_ happen any time soon, if at all." Bryce looked as calm as ever. "But when, _if,_ the time comes, I am sure that you will make the right decision." He looked to the young regent, who barely nodded in return.

The door to Cailan's office opened, the manservant announcing the newcomer into the room. "The Arl of Denerim, Your Highness."

Urien Kendells bowed politely as he entered. "Everything is set for tomorrow, Prince."

"Very good." The regent nodded, failing to smile. Anora placed a hand on her husband's, the iciness from just moments before all but gone. He curved his lips into something both strong and meek, managing to look at least somewhat regal. "You have done well, Kendells. I thank you for your service."

Urien lowered his head again, deeper than before. "And I am honoured to serve you, just as my father was when he organised His Majesty's coronation more than two decades ago. I can only hope that the tradition continues in times to come." The Arl's expression darkened and everyone knew why. Vaughn, the future of the Kendells family, was an infamously poor heir and an even worse man. "Not any time soon, of course, Maker willing," he added.

Cailan was looking grim faced too, presumably for another reason entirely. Each mention of his father seemed to take a toll on the young man. The King had been dead for at least a year by then in everyone's minds; even Loghain, the most loyal of Maric's subjects, had given up hope. But Cailan, the idealist, the optimist, clearly had not. And yet, the next day, he was properly ascending to the throne and taking up the kingship, setting in stone his beloved father's death, almost a symbolic patricide.

Anora intervened in the Prince's grief, mustering all the hospitality at her disposal. "Will you join us for dinner, Arl? Highever, his family and my father," she motioned to Bryce, Aedan and Loghain, "are all staying with us here at the palace tonight. You even said so yourself, the preparations have been taken care of. Why not spend the night here, take your mind off things for a while? Your son can stay with us too."

Urien considered the offer, if only for a token moment. "If it would not be too great an imposition."

The young Mac Tir shook her head with grace. "Of course not."

The manservant opened the door once more, a young man rushing in toward Cailan before even being announced. "Lord Vaughan Kendells, Your Highness."

"I gather you wanted to see me, Prince."

The other six of them in the room stared at Vaughan questioningly, then looked to each other. A brief silence.

"I am afraid I do not remember asking for you, Lord Vaughan. From whom did you receive this message?"

Flustered, the Arl's son clenched a fist. "Oswick, Lord Aedan's servant." He glared down at the young Cousland. "It seems there has been a misunderstanding," he growled.

"Never mind that," Anora said, clearly feeling that something was off. "I was just inviting you and your father to stay with us here at the palace tonight."

"What?" Vaughan blurted, confused and taken off guard. "But shouldn't Oswick be-"

"We would be delighted," Urien interjected, he and his son sharing a _look_ before he turned back to the regent's wife. "Thank you, Lady Anora."

* * *

Aedan found himself next to Anora at the dinner table. He was dressed in a dark navy tunic, the only real option for a nobleman during dinner, and she in a modest and typically Fereldan dress made of velvet in a deep maroon. All other members around the table were having their own conversations, mostly in pairs as was customary. "Earlier, when Cailan mentioned the Empress of Orlais." Anora reacted rigidly, her knife and fork held still, but she did not scowl, nor did she glare at him, which meant he could proceed but only _with caution_. "You don't approve of her?"

"It's not that I disapprove of her." Anora hesitated. "As a ruler, Empress Celene is admirable, worthy of being both respected and feared. As an ally, a _true_ ally, she would be invaluable, but as anything even slightly different…" She turned her eyes toward her husband. "Cailan is an honourable man, but he can be short sighted and easily," a pause, " _convinced_."

Aedan could not quite put his finger on what it was, but somehow his friend looked very _delicate_ then, which, despite his reservations, beckoned him to press on. If something were troubling a ruler of his nation, it was very much his concern. Maker knew that Fergus would certainly not bother to make it his. "I don't quite understand. Will you not be there to guide him, to offer a helping hand? Surely your father will continue to mentor him too."

"Of course," Anora said curtly, and raised her knife and fork again to return to her meal, but stopped resolutely. "I'm twenty-five years old, you know, and it's not as if we haven't been trying all these years," she said bluntly.

It was then that Aedan finally understood, and he couldn't help but feel warm at the cheeks. If Anora failed to produce an heir, things could get very problematic, very quickly, for her. Common sense said that the young lady would have around five more years until she was not so _young_ anymore and Cailan would have to make a choice; sire a child through _other means_ or end Calenhad's royal bloodline for good this time. If it really came to that, a meddling Celene could prove to be a _complication_ indeed. "I see," he managed.

"Do you, now?" Anora replied sternly.

"I do." Aedan looked to his friend in the eyes and was surprised to see them softening.

The regent's wife allowed herself a quiet sigh and Aedan caught a glimpse of the woman behind the mask. "I'm sorry. I've let our conversation become rather serious, especially for dinner." Seemingly reenergised, she smiled in earnest. "Let us speak no more of this."

And that was that.

* * *

"I'm afraid we haven't had many chances to talk, you and me. Not since that hunt we once went on, way back when," Cailan said. "How have you been? I trust the Couslands have been treating you well?"

"They have, very well," Cateline replied, smiling fondly at the memory of her first hunt and that one lucky fox. "I am undeserving of their kindness and generosity."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You are family to them, you know, which practically makes _us_ family too." The Prince took a hearty swig of wine. "And besides, you're the eldest child of a duke yourself. I would hardly say that a person that is to one day take on a dukedom is _undeserving_ of any kind of proper treatment."

"The eldest _daughter_ ," Cateline said. "He is my younger by four years, but it is my brother who will be inheriting the title and everything that comes along with it."

"Oh, yes. Your Empress Celene has been telling me all about the matter. Forgive me for having it slip my mind, but it's just so strange. Women really don't inherit titles of any kind in Orlais?"

"No, I am afraid we don't. Not by general custom, anyhow. In reality, it all depends on how one plays the Game."

"Hm. I don't mean to speak ill of your country, but that does sound rather unfair. _Our_ women would certainly have a thing or two to say about it, I bet." A very specific woman came to Cailan's mind and he glanced at Eleanor, afraid to even imagine how she would react if those Orlesian customs were imposed upon her _very_ Fereldan character. "Do you not mind at all? To me it feels as if you are being robbed of your birthright in a way."

"There are many among us who feel the same way about it as you do, although few would say so openly. As for myself, it fills me with relief to know that I will not have to hold myself accountable for governing a duchy someday. I couldn't bear to take on such a responsibility."

The Prince's shoulders sagged and he took to his wine once more. "I know that feeling. A little too well, I'm afraid." He straightened. "What about your brother, then? Is he prepared for his future?"

"Not yet, but he will be. Alphi's always been the bright one," Cateline replied, her voice hopeful. "You may have a point about our customs, Prince, but in my case at least I believe it has all worked out for the best."

"That speaks well for Aedan, I hope. He's a good man, you know, even if he is a little …" Cailan trailed off, searching for the right words and failing. He looked on to his friend in question, the words _thin_ and _fragile_ jumping out at him. The boy was cunning and smart, but he wasn't going to be winning any tourneys anytime soon. "Well if you haven't already, one thing you'll learn about Fereldan women is that they have a way of snapping us men into shape when we're out of it. Perhaps some of that will rub off on you," Cailan joked, an attempt to save his near blunder.

Cateline simply giggled, smiling with affection. "Oh, I think that may be something that we, women, share universally," she returned, far more truthfully than the young Prince could possibly know.

* * *

Fergus made his way through the palace hallways, filled constantly by candlelight unlike most other estates; the seat of royal power was busy day and night, the servants hard at work to keep the house of kings and queens in tip top shape. He received a curt bow from the twentieth servant he passed by from his bedchamber on the way to his destination, and then at last, he finally arrived.

He opened the chapel doors and stepped inside, only to be surprised by the presence of another so late into the night. It was his sister, sitting at one of the front seats, staring into the eyes of Andraste's stained-glass image. She noticed him instantly, him being heavy footed, and smiled as he took the seat beside her. "You're up pretty late, sister. Mother will be cross if she catches you."

"She's fast asleep, like everybody else. Besides, what will she do? Scold me for praying and meditating upon the teachings of the Chantry?"

"Oh, that's what you are doing, is it? I don't recall you ever having much of an interest."

"It's newfound, thank you very much. It's never too late, you know, or so they say." Adriani shifted, stretching her shoulders and neck. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Still haunted by thoughts of a possible Blight, Fergus had come to the chapel after some reprieve. "Whatever do you mean? I visit the chapel every night. I'm very devout, you know."

"I'd wager Mother Mallol would say otherwise."

They shared a moment in silence, the both of them looking upon the Maker's spiritual wife in contemplation.

"It's those dreams, isn't it?" Fergus asked with dread. Adriani nodded, her head sinking lower by the moment. He sighed. "We really ought to-"

"No! We cannot!" Her voice was almost manic, grabbing at Fergus with trembling hands. "You mustn't give me away, brother, you mustn't. You're the only one standing between me and a life trapped in the Circle Tower."

Fergus pried his sister's hands off himself and held them tightly in his. "It will be alright," he whispered, almost more to himself than to her. "Everything will be alright. I am here for you, and I will never abandon you or give you away, not ever. Even I have learned to hold my tongue." Adriani's breathing slowed to something less unnerving. "And tell those Fade things that they'll have _me,_ the future Teyrn of Highever, to deal with if they ever mistreat you," he joked. It earned him a laugh from his sister, despite her watery eyes.

* * *

Vaughan stalked through the servant's halls below ground, eager for the quenching of his desires he was so deprived of earlier in the day. She had been so young, so vulnerable; just as he liked them. He continued down the hallway, much darker than the well-lit floors upstairs reserved for use by _real people_ , making his way toward his prey's quarters. She was obviously a scullery maid and their beds were right around the corner.

He heard a voice. _Voices._ Two men, whispering right behind him. Quickly he dodged to the side, pressing himself into the gap between the wall and a pillar, putting him out of sight. It was not as if he were not allowed to be there, but it was best not to tempt fate. He focused his ears, tuning into the conversation between the two voices.

"We _have_ to stop this, for both our sakes." Vaughan didn't recognise the voice. "What if we're found out?"

"They won't." He recognised this one, however, very well, and it made his blood boil just to hear it. It was Aedan's servant. "And even if they do, so what?"

"What do you mean 'so what'?"

Oswick groaned. "I'm so tired of hiding _all_ the time. I _love_ you, Darek, and I'm not afraid to tell the world."

"What? How could-" A sickening silence, seemingly lasting an eternity in Vaughan's mind. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Ah. Your words say one thing and yet your tongue tells another story entirely."

Vaughan dared to peek around the corner of the pillar and there they were, the two abominations holding each other in a revolting embrace. He felt his dinner surging up his throat, forcing him to cover his mouth instinctively. The lord supressed a gag, his earlier appetite all but gone. He could hear them no longer as they continued to whisper to each other, until eventually, thank the Maker, he heard the opening and closing of a nearby door and the shuffling of feet as they took to going into a more _private_ room.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dragon 9:27, Winter_

The halls of Denerim's Chantry were dead silent now, the yellow sunlight bleeding in through the windows fitted all along the walls, reflecting brightly off the statue of Andraste towering over Cailan's grand and throne-like seat. It was as if the Maker himself were watching over them, and the young regent, very soon to be king, looked as if he were about to be crushed underneath His gaze.

Grand Cleric Elemena stood before him, the tips of her index and middle fingers shining with flower nectar, extracted faithfully by the local clergy from countless bundles of Andraste's Grace. She touched Cailan on the forehead, anointing him, and the man's elevation to the throne was complete.

* * *

Cailan continued down the hall with his wife, filled to the brim with lords and ladies, his gait somewhat stiff from struggling to balance the crown atop his head.

"Your Majesties," Bryce greeted, bowing deeply, and when he raised his head was met with the sight of the king suppressing a grimace. "Your father would be proud."

"Thank you." The king's eyes faltered briefly before regaining their strength. "It means more to me than you shall ever know to hear you say that."

Bryce smiled in return, ready to change the subject and keep his monarch from a state of vulnerability. "Are you ready for the tour?"

"Parading around Orlais on my own?" Cailan shifted nervously, fiddling with the hilt of his ceremonial blade. He _was_ good at making friends, allies even, but even the very few bits of information he had gathered about their _Game_ was unsettling enough, to say the least. "I don't think I could ever be prepared for that." He looked to Anora. "I only wish you could join me."

The queen let out a sigh, although everyone knew she was far from tired; in fact, as opposed to Cailan's trembling under his new title, Anora seemed only to be invigorated. " _Someone_ must rule the land, dear."

The teyrn gauged Anora, before turning to the king. "I think you will agree when I say you leave Ferelden in the best of hands, and besides, both Loghain and I will be with you at our neighbour's."

"We _all_ will." Adriani added in support.

Cailan was about to thank them when the royal steward raised his voice over the sound of the crowds clamouring just outside the palace. "Your Majesty. When you are ready."

The king pulled at his collar, done a little too tightly. "I don't know if _I_ am ready, but _they_ certainly seem to be," he whispered, so that only his wife could hear. He could already see his people through the window, a far-reaching field of faces, all out to see but one person, _or one thing_ , today. After all, at least to the masses, he was more than _just a man_ now, having come into direct contact with the Maker through Andraste's Grace. The monarchy itself was secular, of course, but its people, the life blood of the nation, were overwhelmingly Andrastian. He stretched out for Anora's hand, clasping it firmly.

"We must be strong, Cailan," the queen replied in a tone equally hushed, "for Ferelden."

One last deep breath and the king nodded to the steward, who in turn instructed the footmen to open the balcony doors, and as he walked through that grand frame, he heard a voice, Aedan's, raised over the shouting of the masses, "Long live King Cailan."

* * *

The trip to Val Royeaux was uneventful, which was always best when it came to travel. Their stop at the border was brief, and the carriage drivers, skilled and experienced, powered through the snowy region sandwiched by the coast and the Frostbacks with ease. They passed through Halamshiral, waving to the commoners crowded around the streets, who showed not adoration but curiosity toward the foreign leaders. From there, they were escorted by a platoon of Orlais' Imperial Guards to the coast of the Waking Sea, where they left their carriages behind for a grand ship, provided by the Empress herself, to sail across to the capital. Loghain, being as he was, raised concern for being surrounded by foreign forces while having such a _lean_ escort of their own Royal Guard, but the king persuaded him that it was a gesture of trust. The old war hero grumbled for the rest of the trip, nonetheless.

Aedan marvelled at the scale of the empire's capital as it came into view over the watery horizon, just as he did when visiting the city several years prior to organise his betrothal.

"Your parents will no doubt be pleased to see you return, Cateline," Oriana said as she nudged her husband, napping in the seat beside her, awake.

Cateline nodded with a smile, staring longingly toward her home town, and she slipped on her porcelain mask. Deep purple in colour and with elaborate, rigid engravings across the forehead, the mask covered her face entirely but her mouth.

The city grew bigger and bigger until eventually they arrived, docking at the harbour, a large slot of it reserved strictly for Imperial use. From there it was only a quick carriage ride through the busy, extravagant, white and gold streets, nothing like those of Ferelden, soon arriving at the Imperial Palace. Aedan squinted on approach as the sun's rays reflected off the castle's gold filled exterior, illuminating the area in its radiance.

The carriage arrived in front of the palace entrance, where they were met with the sight of a legion of servants and nobles, and in the centre among them was a woman, standing tall and proud. Aedan knew little of how the empress looked, her having not been present during his first visit, but he could tell, easily, that it was _Her Imperial Majesty_ who stood before them; they didn't call her the _Lioness_ for nothing.

Close beside the empress, but not _too_ close, was a man and a woman who Aedan _did_ recognise. The pair looked as if they were about to rush toward his carriage at any moment as they pulled up by the entrance. He waited, with his betrothed, until Cailan had stepped off the king's own royal carriage, before disembarking himself.

The group followed behind Cailan as the king strode confidently toward the empress. The two leaders met, exchanged a formal greeting, the Fereldan with a little less refinement than his counterpart, and stood side by side as the king beckoned the rest of his party to approach.

Bryce and Eleanor approached first and were introduced, then Loghain, who, to the surprise of many, managed a civil and graceful exchange, followed by Fergus and Oriana, until, finally, it was Aedan and Cateline's turn.

"The Lord Aedan Cousland and Lady Cateline de Lafierre," Cailan introduced to the empress.

Aedan bowed deeply, arms crossed against his chest. "Your Imperial Majesty." Cateline curtsied with equal depth, repeating the greeting herself.

The empress nodded, then straightened, arms bent at the elbows and right hand resting gently on the left. She looked to the more familiar, Orlesian of the two. "Dear Cateline. I trust your stay in Ferelden has been well?"

Aedan tried, and failed, to ignore the hidden danger in the Lioness' tone, or perhaps he was just overanalysing; he certainly hoped he was.

"Nothing but," Cateline replied. "Castle Highever is my second home now, although it is wonderful to be able to return to my first."

"Of course," Celene said simply, smiling and revealing nothing, before turning to Aedan. "I hear that you are a reader, and am happy to tell you that our palace library boasts quite the collection. Perhaps you will even fancy a visit to our university, if you are so inclined."

Putting aside how unnerving the revelation that the empress knew such a detail of his person was, Aedan replied, "Thank you, Your Majesty. I will be sure to peruse with the utmost care and vigour."

Celene nodded, seemingly satisfied, although at what, Aedan could not guess, and smiled. "Enjoy your stay," she said, signalling that their exchange was over.

Aedan let out a breath that he had been holding unknowingly, and together with Cateline quickly made his way toward the pair from earlier, Adriani approaching the empress herself behind him.

"Father, mother," Cateline greeted, dearly, and they cheek kissed each other, which, with their masks, were merely the pressing of porcelain against porcelain. As a Fereldan, Aedan still found the custom to be peculiar of course, although he committed to partaking in it with his betrothed's mother. With the father, he shared a mutual nod.

Duchess Nanette continued to chat rapidly with her daughter, about what he could not gather.

"So, I hear there is a ball to be held tonight," Aedan said to Cateline's father.

Duke Alphonse adjusted his mask, eyes thinning. "Yes, indeed. What could be more fitting than a royal ball in honour of a royal guest?" He turned to his daughter, only _then_ a smile spreading across his lips. "And I'm glad to say that you are in _our_ charge for the duration of your stay, my dear."

"I'll be staying with you?" Cateline asked, elated, "Not at the palace?"

"You, Aedan, Highever and his family, and of course, Gwaren will all be staying with us," Alphonse replied. "We asked for the empress' permission, and Her Majesty accepted, it being so long since we have been able to spend any time with you."

"Oh, how wonderful!" the young lady exclaimed, smile shining brightly.

Aedan forced himself to express his gratitude also, although it was difficult to ignore the danger of leaving the king alone with Celene and the sneaking suspicion that the empress was actually the one to suggest this _sudden_ change of accommodation in the first place.

* * *

Aedan's relatively simple Fereldan attire attained him some _looks_ from the Orlesian nobles as he walked through the palace halls. He didn't mind, of course; in all fairness, he thought them to be a bunch of ponces.

Beside him was an ever elegant Cateline, gliding along, arm wrapped around his.

They continued until ahead of them appeared a doorway, wide open and allowing an unobstructed view of the festivities on the other side, only the two guards and a doorkeeper with a thick tome in hand separating them from opulence and indulgence.

Aedan declared his name, and Cateline's, to the doorkeeper, who, upon checking with what he assumed to be a list of approved guests, in turn announced with a voice far more befitting of the grandness of the ballroom than expected from the frail looking man. "The Lord Aedan Cousland of Highever and Lady Cateline de Lafierre."

It was unusual to include his father's teyrnir as a part of his name, but, of course, it being less likely for nobles in Orlais to recognise the Cousland name than in Ferelden, it was only natural to do so.

The pair stepped inside, and within, noblemen and women alike chatted and danced along to the heavenly music which was most distinctly Orlesian. Grand and beautiful, managing to sound both cutting edge and ancient simultaneously, the notes from the _violin_ , originally an instrument of the Imperium and quickly adopted by the _cultured_ side of southern Thedas, forming the heart of the sound. The room itself was filled with gold and marble, sheets of royal blue hanging from above along with the oversized chandelier looming over its domain.

Cateline beckoned him toward a servant carrying a tray of white wine. He took two, handing the first to his betrothed of course, and took a sip, whereupon his mouth was exposed to a surprising but rather pleasant _fizz_. He swallowed quickly, examining the tall, thin glass, countless tiny bubbles floating to the surface. "What _is_ this?"

His betrothed started to reply, only to be interrupted by a woman, redhaired and with a silver mask, "It's sparkling. Poor soul, to be deprived of such a simple pleasure should be considered a sin."

"Wine is divine, after all," Cateline said, "or, rather, it _should_ be."

"And shoes, also," the woman added with solemnity, index finger raised, before she smiled warmly. "Oh, I am so glad to see you again, my lady."

"Not as much as I am to see you, Leliana." The two shared a hug, earning them some quick glances from the other nobles, the gesture being uncharacteristic of Orlesians in high society. Cateline introduced Aedan and her old friend to each other.

"And how has your stay been so far, my lord?" Leliana asked.

"Splendid," Aedan replied simply. Unsure of what more to say, he took to his drink; this _woman_ claimed to be his betrothed's friend, but to him she was yet an unknown, and one could never be too careful with unknowns.

That was what he told himself, anyhow. Reality was much simpler; he was just bad at small talk. She looked decent enough, and Cateline seemed to trust her, which only meant that he could probably afford to also.

Fergus was always better at these things, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.

The redhead shared a glance, uncomfortably knowing, with Cateline. "I see. Well, I am ever so glad hear that the reputation of Orlesian hospitality remains untarnished."

Well aware of Aedan's weakness in ballrooms, Cateline took charge. "Are you _working_ tonight, or is this visit at your own pleasure?"

A grin spread across Leliana's lips quickly, not sinister, but wholly mischievous. "Why not both, my lady? And thus, I must be off. We shall catch up later." She turned to Aedan, curtsying. "Good evening, my lord."

The young Cousland returned a nod, Leliana detaching herself from the pair and blending back into the sea of masks. " _Work?"_

"She's a bard, you see."

An Orlesian bard; spy, saboteur and even _assassin_ , all in one elegant little package. So, the woman _was_ dangerous.

Aedan frowned. "An ally, I hope."

"We've known each other since we were both very young, and she's saved my skin more times than I can count. I trust her with my life, so, yes, naturally she is very much an ally."

"Quite the testimonial," Aedan said. "I'd never realised you lived such an exciting life that you needed saving so often."

Cateline giggled, her expression warm, then a little pensive. "My family is," she hesitated a moment, "well, we've had our moments. You can't get much higher than a dukedom, and in Orlais the better off you are, the more numerous your enemies. At times I wonder, in the end, is it even worth all the trouble?" Aedan opened his mouth to retort, but she continued, "I know, I know. We have a duty to our people. I only wish we lived in a world where leaders not necessarily be generals. And yet, alas, we do not."


	7. Chapter 7

_Dragon 9:27, Winter_

Aedan finished off his sparkling drink and handed over the empty flute to a passing servant. "How much longer must I stay? Would it be terribly rude for me to leave sometime soon?"

"Do ballrooms truly frighten you so?" Cateline looked to her betrothed, amused. "We should have brought your nanny along," she teased, going back to taking in the view of the dancefloor, filled with elegant nobles spinning and twirling in pairs to the heavenly tunes echoing throughout the chambers.

The young lord rolled his eyes, snapping up another glass from a waiter nearby. _If only to take the edge off_. _Oh, how a visit to the university seems more attractive than ever._ He took a large draught of his drink, and from the corner of his eye, watched in dread as a pair of young and haughty ladies approached them. He steeled himself.

Slowly and elegantly, the two women curtsied when they arrived. They wore the same dresses, and, as Aedan only noticed up close, they looked nearly identical in every aspect but one – the golden masks that covered their faces; one was rather sharp, while the other was softer around the edges. "Cateline," greeted _Sharpie_ , voice warmer than Aedan had imagined.

"Claressa," Cateline returned, and then to _Softie_ , "Vaneueve."

The trio of ladies exchanged their _usual_ platitudes, Aedan tuning out as he had already done several times earlier that night, until finally and once more, it was time for him to be introduced. "And I assume this is…" Vaneueve trailed off, glancing at the young lord.

Cateline nodded, "Yes, Lord Aedan Cousland, my betrothed. Claressa and Vaneueve are the twin daughters of Comte Bereau." Aedan bowed, and the two ladies curtsied again. "I was so sorry to hear about dear Pernault."

"Oh, yes," Vaneueve replied, voice drenched in grief, "Cousin Pernault was such a sweetheart. Not a nasty bone in his body." She shook her head. "It was terrible, what happened."

"A cousin of ours passed away last month. Wasting sickness," Claressa explained to Aedan.

"My condolences."

Claressa sighed, seemingly deflating, before straightening with a smile. "Thank you, but now is not the time for sadness or sorrow. No, tonight is for music, drinks and dance." She glanced to the dancefloor nearby, before turning back. "So?"

"So?" Aedan returned, confused.

"Are you really not going to ask _either_ of us for a dance?" Vaneueve was smirking.

"I'm not exactly a dancer."

"Sitting out and watching from the sidelines? And I'd thought that the one saving grace of Fereldan men was supposed to be that they were brave and courageous," she teased.

Cornered, and after a quick _look_ to his betrothed, who nodded gently in return, Aedan stuck out his hand toward the twin's general direction. _How could anyone with even a modicum of dignity back down from a challenge like that?_ Vaneueve placed her hand in his, and the pair made off to dance.

* * *

Cateline watched her betrothed dance clumsily in the distance, the sight evoking some strange affection.

"And thus, we are alone at last," Claressa said beside her.

Her unconscious smile was no longer, and the warmth in her body seemed to drain away into the ether as the words slipped out of her mouth, "What is it that you want?" They came out coarser than she'd thought they would. She composed herself.

The comte's conniving daughter, putting on a reaction alluding to shock but not quite the real thing, "Oh, my dear. Whatever have I done to deserve such treatment? I only meant to say that I cherish our time together."

"I have had enough of your machinations for a lifetime, _my dear._ "

It was only then that, ever so slowly, Claressa's beautiful, elegant mask beneath her mask contorted into something ugly, the deceiver revealing her truest form – a most wretched hag. It only lasted for a moment, however, before that textbook haughtiness returned. "Still an _exceptionally_ poor player, I see. In fact, I believe your time in Ferelden has only acted as a detriment to your already _shocking_ skills." She placed a condescending hand on Cateline's arm, "Fear not, for tonight I am here to help."

"I see." Cateline was _not_ going to fall for the witch's schemes. She brushed herself free of Claressa's touch. "How very generous of you. Might I ask, exactly _how_ you plan to do so?"

Claressa moved closer, but not too closely to avoid drawing any attention, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There is a plot against you, being acted out as we speak." Cateline, despite her best efforts, let slip a surprised twitch. It was enough to make Claressa smirk that ugly smirk. "My brother, he is performing some ritual with an apostate. I overheard him rambling on about it to himself in his study, that it would bring about the end of your family."

It took her off-guard, but Cateline centred herself quickly. "And what would motivate Fabrice to pursue such an impossibility?"

"You attack others, unrelenting, but when you are put in place as the target, suddenly you begin to question their motives? You know what they say about what goes around."

"Oh, please," Cateline replied in disgust. "Unlike yourself, I have done nothing to deserve such a threat."

"You were born under a father who rules over a duchy, that is reason enough. And what about that little puppy of yours?" Claressa motioned to Aedan, battling for Fereldan pride on the dancefloor. "Surely, you must know, there are many of us here who believe you bring shame upon our reputation by mixing with _his_ kind, although none would be foolish enough to openly denounce Her Radiance's plans."

"We are each entitled to our opinions, I suppose." Cateline held in her fury. "Still, how does dear Fabrice plan to _bring about the end of my family_ , as you put it?"

"I have none of the details, nor do I have any evidence. What I _do_ have, however, is motive." Claressa grinned fiendishly and Cateline furrowed her brows, until it came to her. "Next in line for the countship after our brother is some distant third cousin once removed, a plebeian. If our dear Fabrice _were_ to be locked away, disavowed or, better yet, dead, then surely the Council of Heralds will consider giving _me_ the title, rather than some distant nobody."

Cateline could barely contain her disgust. "And what of Vaneueve? Would she not be just as eligible?"

"One step at a time, one step at a time. Pernault proved only to be a minor inconvenience, in the end. Besides, you have quite enough of your own _problems_ to worry about." Claressa regarded Aedan and her sister as they returned, the young lord looking positively _sick of it_. "I believe he is meeting the apostate in a courtyard just to the west of the Summer Bazaar," she whispered to Cateline, "Good luck, _my dear_."

* * *

Aedan tuned out again, busy fixing his coat. The three ladies exchanged pleasantries, the twins eventually floating off back into the crowd, _finally._ Once he looked presentable, he turned to Cateline, who looked rather _strange_. He observed closely. By then he knew her well enough to read her expressions with accuracy and this time the signs were all pointing to one thing; she was _distressed_.

"Is everything alright?"

Cateline rubbed her temple. "I hope so." Her head tilted downward for a moment, before she raised it, seemingly resolute. "I'm afraid I have to leave you on your own for a while." She turned to walk away.

He took her hand, swift but gentle. "If you are in any trouble, please, allow me to help. Even if it involves _legwork_ , I assure you, your training has not gone to waste."

Stiffening, then her shoulders relaxing and a warm smile. "I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. But I am afraid that it would be a betrayal against my family to involve you in this. I am sorry."

It pained him, but he overcame it, drawing her hand to his lips with a tenderness he was unaware he had. "I understand." Really, he did. "Maker watch over you." He relinquished his grip, helpless but to stare at her back as she dissolved into the crowd once more.

And then he was alone, standing awkwardly, yet somewhat conveniently, by the table full of colourful drinks. He grabbed one on instinct, some curiously deep green concoction.

"How awfully brave of you." An Antivan voice he recognised, over from behind.

Aedan spun around, put at ease by the familiar voice, but the sight his eyes were met with were not quite how he remembered the girl. That is, the girl was a girl no longer; she was a woman. "Lady Josephine," he greeted with a bow, carefully setting aside his surprise and finding himself putting on an ever so slightly deeper voice than usual. She returned a greeting and he nodded to the drink in his hand. "Not good?"

"Oh, it's plenty good. Too good, in fact." The heir of Montilyet dropped to a near whisper, "They call it the _Green Pitfall_. Have one and you're bound to have another. And then another, and another, until finally you lose all control over your inhibitions."

Grimacing at the _pitfall_ , he promptly passed it on to a nearby servant collecting empty glasses. "Turn myself into a sitting duck in a sea full of sharks? I'd rather battle a High Dragon."

"Smart." Josephine let out a light chuckle, playful. "It has been a while, Lord Aedan. I believe we last met when you were arranging your betrothal at the palace. Is Lady Cateline here tonight?"

"Uh," Aedan hesitated a moment. Thinking on his feet was _not_ his speciality. _A solid strategy trumps even what the best tacticians have to offer_ was his motto. "Yes, she just left for a moment."

"She left?"

"Complaining of an empty stomach."

"But there is food here, everywhere."

Just then, a servant walked by with a plate full of savouries. Aedan snatched up a pastry, careful to keep his nerves hidden, shoving it straight into his mouth. Chewing and swallowing in a rush, he pretended not to notice the Montilyet's brows furrowing. "She must have missed it." He managed a laugh, weakly. "Can you believe it? I think she went all the way down to the kitchen."

A pause.

 _She clearly doesn't believe it._

"So, if I were to go down to the kitchen, right now, I would find Lady Cateline-"

"Okay," the young lord interrupted her, hand raised, "okay. The truth is, we had a bit of a squabble, and she stormed off."

"Oh," Josephine paused for a moment, contemplating his story, "I see."

"Do you?"

A gentle smile spread across her lips. "Yes, I do. It happens sometimes, even in the strongest of bonds. It is only natural." Her attention went to the dancefloor. "Speaking of strong bonds."

Aedan looked too; it was Fergus and Oriana, twirling and gliding with skill and passion. His older brother looked so strong then, so powerful and in control, a bright Fereldan star, shining in the midst of the stuffy Orlesians, the envy of many in his arms.

"Well, I am glad that they _worked out_ , at least," Josephine said.

" _At least_? You were against their marriage?"

"Naturally, to let such a valuable asset slip to Ferelden. As an ambassador-in-training, here in Orlais, I had thought it a partial failure of my own, not having been able to convince her family to call off the betrothal. Even the ambassador hadn't been able to foresee their early marriage." She smiled. "But I can see now that, perhaps, it was for the best after all."

A thoughtful but proud _hmm_ was all Aedan offered. Josephine was right, of course. It _had_ been for the best, at least for _his_ family and nation. With little Oren having been born, the succession was settled for two generations, and at their disposal were their ties with the wealthy merchants of Antiva and the ever-dominant _players_ of Orlais, not to mention their strong standing within their _own_ nation; the Couslands were guaranteed prosperity for decades to come.

* * *

Cailan declined when one of the servants draped in royal blue offered him a drink; he was abstaining tonight. Even _someone like him_ knew when to keep his wits about him. The king needed them then more than ever, sitting in front of Celene in a private balcony raised above the rest of the guests.

"No drink?" Celene sharpened her eyes. He readied himself. One could never be _overprepared_ with the Lioness. "How unlike you. I can't seem to recall ever seeing you without something to sip or _swig_." The Empress pursed her lips. _Or was it a pout?_

He shifted in his seat, somehow already feeling a little defenceless. "You know how I am," he managed, "I'd hate to make a fool of myself out here for all of the dukes and marquises to see."

The Empress grinned toothily, a rarity for _Her Radiance_. "Fear not. No harm shall come to you, as long as you are by _my_ side." Then, her expression curious, "Though, you really are looking quite serious tonight. Is something the matter? You are not usually bound so tight."

Not quite knowing how to reply, Cailan opened his mouth to say at least _something_ , but he decided against it, opting merely to shrug instead.

The sharp, golden rays, _or were they wings_ , shining behind her, Celene straightened her posture, shoulders spread and chin drawn slightly downward. Cailan looked to the spiralling dancers below, but he could feel her gaze boring into him. Her voice, calm, cold and dominant, the warmth from earlier all but gone, "They warned you of me, didn't they?"

Caught off guard, the king steadied himself, clearing his throat. "Who?"

" _Please_ ," like a mother to her son, seeing right past the childish trick.

"No one warned me of anything. And even if they did, do you truly believe I would be so easily affected by my subjects?"

Celene pursed her lips again, probably enjoying herself, although he couldn't know for sure. "Do you know what the difference is between us? _You_ are a ruler by circumstance, and _I_ am a ruler by will." With nothing to offer, Cailan remained silent. "You are fooling nobody. We all know that Queen Anora is the _real_ head of Ferelden. You are a mere figurehead, the last of the mighty Calenhads, reduced to nothing but a hand to shake, an arm to twist. And what of the potential threat of the darkspawn's return? How will a spoilt baby, the son of a farmer and his barren daughter be able to defend their domain from such a bottomless evil?"

Cailan had no retort on his own part, but his family, he defended fiercely, "You dare speak that way about the Hero of River Dane and Her Majesty, my _wife_?"

He was waved off by the Lioness, without remorse. "Admit to yourself, your nation is unprepared and in danger, as circumstances currently stand."

"I already have!"

"Then why deny yourself of my aid? I have loyal, willing men and women at my disposal, ready to immediately bolster your meagre forces and defend your lands." Once more, the king fell silent. "See? Just as I had said. You, a king, no mere mortal, but a king who has been touched by the Maker Himself, being bullied by your subjects into a disastrous decision."

"I am _not_ being bullied by anyone. I am in the middle of _convincing_ them." Cailan sighed, hand gliding through his hair in frustration. He waved over a servant, eager to change the topic by any means necessary. "A goblet full of your red," he ordered.

* * *

Cateline had managed to catch Leliana in the eastern wing of the palace, the moonlight bleeding in through the windows set high above, mixing with the candlelight in the otherwise dark and silent hallway.

"You're in luck," the bard said, "I have just finished Marjolaine's job."

"So, you'll do it?"

Leliana took Cateline's hand in hers. "Of course," she said simply, beaming, "We must stick together in times of crisis." Her expression darkened. "And this certainly does seem to be…"

"Potentially catastrophic," Cateline finished, tightening her grip on her friend's hand. "You must be discreet, no one can find out. If this gets out to the others, _those vultures_ … if they find out the truth, it could ruin my family for good."

Leliana nodded, then her attention went somewhere behind Cateline's shoulder as she relinquished her grip, and she craned her neck to get a better look. Her alarmed expression soon melted away, however, and she greeted the newcomer. "Ah, Josephine."

"I hope I am not interrupting," the Montilyet said, stepping into vision.

"Of course not," Cateline replied, putting on her best smile. "Leliana and I were just about to return to the main hall."

"I see. Only," Josephine hesitated a moment, "speaking to Lord Aedan, I had been given the impression that you may be in some sort of predicament."

"Did you, indeed?"

"Let us just say that your betrothed is an honourable man, which inevitably makes him a novice in the art of deception." Josephine smiled. "Now, I understand your desire for secrecy. That is a precept for the _Game_. Just know that, if you are in need of assistance, you may call on me."

Unsure of what to make of the relative stranger's offer, although she did seem sincere, Cateline turned to Leliana, and the bard answered with a reassuring nod. She returned her attention to the Montilyet. "Thank you. I will keep it in mind, Lady Josephine, but may I ask, what urged you to make such a kind offer?"

"Being in the good graces of a duke's daughter. Now _that_ is something I would never pass up on." Josephine approached, moving closer with a decisiveness that reminded Cateline of her mother-in-law. "More so than that, though, is that any friend of Leliana is a friend of my own."


End file.
